


got that hourglass for you, baby, look at these legs

by xerampelinae



Series: kko [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, M/M, Mutual Pining, and they were ROOMMATES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 23:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17032260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xerampelinae/pseuds/xerampelinae
Summary: “I thought it would be funny,” Keith admits when Shiro finds out he’s playingallthe eye candy. “If I’d known you’d have to do so much--”“--you mean, the excruciating job of standing still and looking pretty?” Shiro says wryly, then sobers quietly. “I mean, it’s good practice.”“Practice?” Keith says, sharp eyes alighting on Shiro’s form. It’s dangerous for Shiro--Keith can be so insightful, and this is a secret that Shiro does not want to weigh Keith down.“It’s been a long time since anyone outside of the house saw me this dressed down,” Shiro says with practiced levity. He deliberately does not look at the prosthetic, for all that it has given him back, or the flesh around it. “Even longer since I did Life Modelling.”“You’re just as handsome as the day I met you,” Keith says, blushing but determined.-Keith is a musician. When he decides to cover jlo, his roommate agrees to help out with the music video.





	got that hourglass for you, baby, look at these legs

**Author's Note:**

> I Did Not Like S8. December's been weird for me, and the last few days have been kinda tough, so I've been working on this to take my mind off of things. I hope it takes everyone's minds off of things if they need that.

_”This_ is what he replaced me with?” Lance says, goggling at the music video playing on Pidge’s computer.

“Oh yeah,” Pidge says. “He’s a real sweetheart, you know. None of that clashing with Keith like with you.”

“He’s so,” Hunk says, looking far away and hungry, except instead of the usual topic of food it’s the man stripped down to clinging, lovingly-cut boxer briefs. “Beefy. Is this what people mean when they say beefcake?”

“It’s one kind of beefcake,” Pidge says, patting Hunk’s arm. “You’re another kind.”

“Aw, buddy,” Hunk says. “Thanks!”

“Can we get back to this dude that I got replaced by in this music video?” Lance says.

“Actually, two music videos,” Pidge says.

The scream that follows isn’t heard around the world, but it is heard throughout the building.

-

Keith Kogane--or kko, as he’s sometimes called, in the infamous style of celebrities reduced to their first initial and surname’s first syllable--is an indie singer known for his deep soulful voice and dark surreal lyrics. This fact alone does not explain the music videos; those covers of famous female pop singer’s music with pronounces unchanged for full _yes homo_ effect with complementary music video tributes.

Lance is the recommendation of the label’s casting agency. “Oh, you’ll look so striking together,” the agency representative Allura chirps.

“Wow, I wonder what they’ll do with your hair for the shoot,” Lance says. “Always looks way better, no matter how good your hair is that day.”

“This is my hair for the shoot,” Keith says flatly.

“Right,” Lance says disbelievingly. “Next you’ll tell me the rumors about you lip-synching are fake.”

“They are,” Keith says.

“Right,” Lance says again.

-

Allura pops up suddenly from below the desk. “Right!” she says. “Are you ready for the contracts?”

“I need a few minutes,” Keith says, voice strained slightly. He leaves the table before any protests can pop up, pulling out his phone even before he’s out of the conference room. “Hey, Shiro, is this a good time?”

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro says. “Yeah, just running some errands. What’s up?”

“I don’t know if I can do the jlo music video,” Keith says, rounding the stairwell to rise higher and higher within the building.

“But you love the concept and that it goes to normalize male homosexuality?” Shiro says.

“I do,” Keith says, “I do. It’s just, this guy that they chose to appear in the video is kinda--”

“Go on,” Shiro says.

“I think he hates me?” Keith says. “Also. He makes me look like a twunk. But he might try to kill me if he hears that. He’s very aggressive.”

“Oh my god,” Shiro says. “Please don’t die or have to kill him in self defense. We might have to sell the house.”

“Oh no,” Keith says, lightening. “Not our first Not A Shithole house.”

Shiro’s chuckle travels through the phone as a soft, intimate sound. It sends chills down Keith’s spine like a bite of bitter melon, but he ignores it. He always does.

“Want me to stop by with lunch?” Shiro asks. “Sounds like it’s going to be a while.”

“You’re the best,” Keith says. “One free tour of the workplace coming up, Dr. Shirogane.”

“See you soon, Keith,” Shiro says, laughing.

-

Lance is gone by the time Keith’s reached the top of the stairwell, reversed directions and headed back down, and met Shiro in the lobby.

“Is everything alright, Keith?” Allura asks as she watches him re-enter the conference room.

“I think I need to talk over some things with the production team,” Keith says. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Well, we were hoping to have the decision made on your eye candy today, but we can keep the timeline as long as you’ve decided by Friday,” Allura says, then comes up short as Shiro follows Keith into the room. “Why, uh--hello, you’re new around here.”

“Hi,” Shiro says, smiling politely. They’re on the West Coast so it doesn’t matter as much, but between Allura’s coral pink blazer and business casual dress code and Keith’s motorcycle jacket and jeans, Shiro’s soft-worn athleisure outfit sticks out a little.

“You,” Allura says, “are definitely not signed with us. I’d remember you. Who are you signed with? Can I convince you to have lunch--on me, of course--to discuss your options in the industry?”

“Um,” Shiro says, eyes darting over to Keith, who steps in supportive and close immediately.

“I’m afraid he’s in a different industry that he’s highly attached to,” Keith says, hand settling on Shiro’s shoulder.

“Oh,” Allura says, and opens her purse for a business card, offering it to Shiro. “Well, please do give us a call if you change your mind.”

-

It comes up again that night, when they’re preparing dinner together.

“I’m not sure what to do,” Keith says. “Image seems to be a big part of the whole video, especially in contrasts. They didn’t have any other options when Kolivan asked.”

“Hm,” Shiro says, and with more attention than usual, stares down the onion as he chops it, pretending the wobble in his voice is simply the onion’s fault. “I mean, I could maybe do it if you wanted? I have some days coming up.”

“Are you--are you sure?” Keith says, voice wavering. “You know how long shoots can run on these things?”

“You mean,” Shiro says with good humor, “long like the shifts of my actual job?”

“I mean,” Keith says, and there’s a trace of embarrassment there too, “you do remember what video this is a tribute and cover of, right?”

“Yes?” Shiro says. He’s pretty sure he watched it when it first came out, probably even with Keith. He can’t tell what face Keith is making because he is Chopping Onions but Keith runs his hands under the tap and disappears into the family room to pick up the closest laptop--Shiro’s, maybe, not that it matters--and sets the laptop up on the part of the counter meant for technology and the cookbooks Keith occasionally receives from his purple alien relatives. Keith’s shoulders are stiff; his hair hangs down to hide his face in a way that makes Shiro want to brush it back. Then their shoulders are brushing and they’re watching the video together.

It’s a lot, Shiro thinks. It’s a lot to do with someone who will never be interested in Shiro, which he regularly reminds himself of. It’s normal. To do a little more, to help Keith with something that is _important_ to him. Well, it’s worth it to be paraded around in baby oil, a very minimal swimsuit, and nothing else. It’s worth it to be so tantalizingly close and yet hopelessly, eternally distant.

He must hate himself, he thinks. But he’s also curious what Keith will look like in heels, hotpants and a boobwindow.

-

“Hm,” Keith says, reading through the contract alongside Shiro. On the other side of the video call, Kolivan’s rereading his copy of the contract. It’s late in the day, so Shiro’s switched his contacts for glasses--the horn-rimmed ones with the classic frames; they’re his most comfortable pair and maybe the most nerdy since Q from _James Bond_ was his inspiration. The unexpected part is that Keith’s put on his reading glasses to join in, though it is a long contract.

It’s a dangerous look on Keith for a couple reasons. First is that red is Keith’s signature, and for good reason. It’s a good color on him, not to mention lucky. Second is that the cat-eye frames do dangerously interesting things to Keith’s face. It’s a nice face but--Shiro gulps, hoping that neither Keith nor Kolivan will look up and ask why he’s staring--Keith’s glasses reframe his face _just_ enough that Shiro almost forgets that this is his dearest friend who he is very happily in a platonic relationship with. Even if he wants to bend him over various pieces of furniture and hold his hand with great frequency.

“Thanks again for agreeing to help, Kolivan,” Shiro forces himself to say.

The look that Kolivan pins him down with is heavy and _knowing._ “Thank you for helping my nephew,” Kolivan says.

Shiro tries to smile and not sweat. “Is there, uh, is there anything I should know about? Like, I don’t know, not cutting my hair or shaving in case things go terribly wrong?”

Kolivan looks steady and soul-piercing at Shiro; in that moment Shiro realizes he’s receiving the same care and services as Keith for whatever amount of money Keith is paying and won’t let Shiro know about.

“You know what?” Shiro says. “I’m just being fussy. I trust you, Kolivan.”

“Keith,” Kolivan says. “He is an acceptable Keith In Law. Appropriate choice.”

There’s not much to say to that, except nod, so that’s what they do.

-

“I thought it would be funny,” Keith admits when Shiro finds out he’s playing _all_ the eye candy. “If I’d known you’d have to do so much--”

“--you mean, the excruciating job of standing still and looking pretty?” Shiro says wryly, then sobers quietly. “I mean, it’s good practice.”

“Practice?” Keith says, sharp eyes alighting on Shiro’s form. It’s dangerous for Shiro--Keith can be so insightful, and this is a secret that Shiro does not want to weigh Keith down.

“It’s been a long time since anyone outside of the house saw me this dressed down,” Shiro says with practiced levity. He deliberately does not look at the prosthetic, for all that it has given him back, or the flesh around it. “Even longer since I did Life Modelling.”

“You’re just as handsome as the day I met you,” Keith says, blushing but determined. “You know, that instructor loved you because you were a decent model and attendance peaked when you were there?”

“Oh,” Shiro says. Inside, he’s trying to remind himself that there’s no reason to be blushing. It does not help with the vasodilation inducing said blush.

“This is your choice?” a man says, stalking in a thoughtful circle around them.

“Yes,” Keith says, eyeing him warily.

“Hm,” the man says. “I think we can make this work.”

“Excuse me?” Shiro says.

“Shiro, this is--” Keith says.

“Lotor,” the man says, flipping his long platinum blond hair dramatically over his shoulder. “I’m the director of this project. I look forward to working with you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Shiro says, carefully schooling his face and shaking Lotor’s hand firmly.

“Ooh, strong grip,” Lotor says, intensifying his study of Shiro’s body.

“It looks like we’ll have to cut this short,” Keith says, gently taking Shiro’s elbow and guiding him free of Lotor. “Coran’s ready for us.”

It’s true, but Coran has barely cleared the doorway by the time Lotor looks up. “So he is,” he says. “Very well, I’ll see you gentleman later.”

“Thanks for the rescue,” Shiro murmurs into Keith’s ear once they’ve followed Coran far enough away that even their fussy second landlord who’d lived downstairs couldn’t have heard. Keith companionably bumps his shoulder.

“So you’re the one everybody’s all in a fuss over,” Coran chirps suddenly. “How do you know Keith?”

Shiro smiles nervously. “We, uh, met in college actually.”

“Oh?” Coran says, turning in place and staring stonily at Shiro. In his hands is a very red and very small swimsuit. “You weren’t his...TA, or something like that?”

“Actually, he was one of the models in a class I was taking,” Keith says. “Very friendly, came over to ask to look at my art. Somehow we became friends.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Shiro says, relaxing and beaming a little at the memory.

Coran squints at them furiously.

“Coran,” Keith says. “You do know that Shiro and I’ve known each other for years?”

“Shiro?” Coran says thoughtfully, face shifting into an intimidating glower. “Ah! So you’re the one that Allura tried to recruit. Agency Altea isn’t good enough for you?”

“I, um,” Shiro says. “I can’t sign a contract with an agency. Because I’m already in a contract. With a hospital.”

The glower intensifies.

“What Shiro means,” Keith says, “is that he’s a doctor, and doing this music video is a favor to me. That’s why we had my lawyer take care of his contract with the label.”

“Oh,” Coran says. “Well, in that case I understand perfectly.”

Discreetly, Shiro sighs.

“Now,” Coran says, brandishing the swimsuits again. “Try these on for fit--on the double!”

Swallowing nervously, Shiro obeys.

-

“Keith said something about him being a doctor,” Coran says during lunch break during his regular phone call with Allura, “but I don’t know what kind could have a body like that. Never met a PhD who looked anything like him.”

“Curious,” Allura says.

-

The first photos are set in a lavish bedroom. With the magic of photoshop and post-production, Shiro will be on the four poster bed--twice--as well as sprawled unconscious on a fancy chair. Even if Shiro hadn’t been stripped down to very brief boxer briefs he’d have looked fucked-out, especially with the way hair and make-up (a willowy, curvaceous woman named Ezor) styled his hair.

“Today’s just the promo shoot, Shiro,” Keith says, while the crew take their places. “Don’t worry about it.”

He grins soft and reassuring. It makes Shiro’s heartrate jump alarmingly, but he can do this. He can help Keith with this video.

-

“Hey, Matt, Pidge,” Keith says, “you guys remember my roommate Shiro, right?” 

“Hi, Shiro!” Pidge chirps, distracting him while Matt grabs Keith.

“Hey, uh, buddy,” Matt says, “is this like, what roommates means in gay, or are you still--”

“We’re just roommates,” Keith says, blinking at Matt evenly. He’s wearing the hotpants outfit and he’s not even bothered by the cool temperature of the set.

“Oh my god,” Matt says, grabbing the hair that isn’t contained by the pigtails Pidge had put in at 3 a.m. on their way in. “You guys have both of your names on the deed. You’re _house married.”_

Keith shrugs, eyes already back on Shiro. “It’s his house, too.”

-

They’re not bad pictures, Shiro can admit, even without the photoshopped multitude of Shiros. The tight red suit that Keith’s in--he has no idea how Keith can sit down, let alone move around so fluidly. Keith’s stage presence is mostly stationary--he likes to have the music speak for itself, rather than depend on how pretty some people think his face is, or how his figure looks--but here he’s fluid and languid. Something about strapping on heels transforms Keith, and Shiro can’t stop watching as they do each scene until Lotor and Acxa, the camera operator are satisfied. Then they begin again with Shiro in a different position.

“It’s art,” Keith says as he collapses into the make-up chair next to where Shiro is having his third bottle of baby oil applied to his body in anticipation of the next stage of filming. He’s glistening. If someone tried to tackle Shiro and nefariously stab him to death in this moment, attacker and knife would slide clear and Shiro would slip away unharmed. “I did it for the art.”

“One of us has to do it for the art,” Shiro says, “and it’s probably not going to be me.”

“Shiro,” Keith says, suddenly a little flushed and serious, “your heart is a work of art. And. I don’t think you stripped down to show the world your Venus dimples for science.”

“Nah,” Shiro says. “I did it for you.”

Keith blinks--once, then rapidly several times.

“Keith?” Shiro says.

Keith shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t make me cry, Shiro,” he says. “I can handle the heels, but not if I start crying and get make-up in my eyes.”

“Well,” Shiro says. “Have I told you yet how you looked?”

“No,” Keith says, almost shyly. “How do I look, Shiro?”

“It’s a good look on you,” Shiro says, nervously dampening his lips with a sweep of his tongue. “You look--you look nice.”

“Oh,” Keith says. His eyes are still carefully shut but a blush is creeping across his cheeks. “Well. You look nice too.”

“Oh, thanks,” Shiro says, immediately cursing himself for the oddity of his response.

“Keith,” Coran says thunderously as he appears. “Why haven’t you changed yet?”

“Oh, it’s that time?” Keith says. He slides out of the make-up chair and into a crouch, carefully unfastening the heels. It’s the same focus that Keith has when getting into his performer’s mindset, and the same look he has preparing dinner at home. Seeing Keith focus like that for different things makes Shiro feel absurdly fond.

Keith straightens and carefully steps out of the shoes. Then he’s unfastening the belt and passing it off to Shiro’s blissfully un-oiled hands, shifting his shoulders loose of the close-cut outfit to reveal defined shoulders and the musculature he’s developed from working out with Shiro. 

Coran’s eyebrows creep up towards his hairline. Ezor stops with an eyeshadow palette in hand, visibly gaping in the mirror.

“Keith,” Shiro says. Keith stills. Shiro can see his belly button, from the way Keith’s holding the waist of the red outfit. An absurd part of Shiro wants to put his nose against Keith’s stomach to see if the oil will can transfer and if he can make Keith laugh like that. “We have company.”

“Oh,” Keith says, looking up and finally noticing the presence of Coran and Ezor. “Sorry, guys.”

They nod in a facsimile of understanding. Keith picks up two hangers’ worth of minimal white clothing and shuffles off to the quiet corner where there’s a curtain.

“What the fuck,” Ezor hisses at Coran and Shiro. “Keith is always aware of who is in a room. Every time!”

“We’ve known each other for a while,” Shiro says, shrugging and maybe blushing a little. He hopes it comes across as being shiny because excess baby oil.

Coran and Ezor squint suspiciously at him. Then Keith’s padding barefoot out from behind the curtain, long dark hair falling in waves around the collar. His old scar is tucked safely away; the boob window is cut almost conservatively, for all that it reveals the surprising cleavage formed by developed pectoralis majors.

Shiro wonders if this is what lingerie does--or rather, how it works--showing less and creating more tension. Maybe it’s just the framing and promise of sensuality.

-

“Be coy,” Lotor purrs. “This is a game, and he wants to serve you.”

It’s lucky that the camera’s not going to be on their faces for this shot, because the stunned face Shiro’s wearing is reflected back on Keith’s. A flute of champagne appears in Keith’s hand--the hand that is not on the waist of the small black trunks Shiro’s wearing.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Keith says, determinedly meeting Shiro’s gaze even as a flush brightens his face.

“It’ll be fine,” Shiro says. “It’s a quick shot, barely more than a frame in the original.”

“A-alright,” Keith says, trying to school his face properly.

Shiro raises his arms. Lotor snaps his filmmaker’s prop. Shiro arches his back to make his ribcage look even broader. He can feel all the eyes in the room on him. Keith tugs on Shiro’s trunks with a carefully-manicured hand and pours the champagne, impishly sticking his tongue out.

“Cut!” Lotor says, sounding pleased and intrigued. “Take five, we’ll review the footage but I think we got the shot.”

The set suddenly clamors with chatter as the workers scatter. Shiro sighs and Keith startles--Shiro catches him carefully, hands broad on his upper arms.

“Keith?” Shiro says. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, oddly breathy. His eyes scan slowly up--from Shiro’s abdomen, where Keith’s hand is caught up against, fingertips tucked beneath the waistband--to finally meet Shiro’s eyes. “Sorry, you just startled me. How are you--are you okay?”

Shiro grins, though it fades quickly as he studies Keith. “I’m fine. Really, are you okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, Shiro hauls Keith up into his arms, like maybe Keith’s legs will give out under him and knowing that’s not something can stand to see. Nobody’s looking, which is good; for a popular singer, Keith has no interest in the spotlight. He likes their quiet section of suburbia, where they’re taken as a pair of Young Successfuls who are accidental hipsters--at least according to the ones whose grandchildren use that vocabulary and pass it on to their confused elders.

“Keith?” Shiro says, setting him down in the make-up chair. The dressing room is away from distracting well-wishers.

“I’m fine, Shiro,” Keith says, voice low and velvet-soft. His hand, still cradling the champagne flute, gestures to the boob window. “I, uh, felt your breath. It just surprised me.”

Frowning, Shiro looks Keith up and down, absently counting Keith’s heartrate. Then it jumps and he stops, staring at Keith’s pelvis.

“You too?” Shiro murmurs. Keith’s pulse jumps again.

“Oh,” Keith says. They look at each other for a long moment, and then something drops outside. Panicked shouts erupt. They exchange a look and Shiro stands up.

“Try flexing your thigh muscles,” Shiro says. “It’ll redirect bloodflow.”

Keith nods. “Go. I’ll be there soon.”

-

There’s a guy on the set floor when Shiro gets there, a crowd gathering around him. Shiro’s not rude about it, but he presses forward through the crowd until they give way and let him through.

“Did anyone call for an ambulance or called for medical personnel?” he asks, going to his knees.

“I’m dialling right now,” one of the Holts says. 

“Perfect,” Shiro says. “Hi there, can you tell me what your name is?”

“Hunk,” the guy on the floor says.

“Hi, Hunk,” Shiro says. “I’m Dr. Shirogane, can you tell me where you are?”

There’s some murmurs of disbelief-- _”A doctor?”_

_“I don’t think doctor’s get that jacked.”_

_“Listen, any guy working on his PhD does not have the time to work out--what’s he going to do, flex instead of doing a proper defense of his thesis?”_

_“I don’t know, I think if he flexed at me it would work pretty well”_ \--until Keith appears at Shiro’s shoulder.

“I’m at work,” Hunk says. He seems to gain some clarity as the seconds pass. “We’re working on a shoot--uh, where’re your clothes, Doctor?”

“I’m helping with the shoot,” Shiro says. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I think I slipped?” Hunk says. 

“Alright,” Shiro says. “Do you remember if you hit your head?”

Hunk shakes his head, then his face twists suddenly like he’s fighting a wave of nausea, then it must ebb and he relaxes shallowly.

“You’ll need to get checked out at the hospital, Hunk,” Shiro says. “Just rest up a bit for now.”

“Mmkay,” Hunk says.

-

“Sorry I messed up your shoot, uh, Mr. K--” Hunk begins.

“It’s fine, Hunk,” Keith says. “Just let Dr. Shirogane take care of you.”

“Wow,” Hunk says. “Wow. You are like, so cool? And also a lot nicer than I expected. I did not know you knew my name.”

“You’re one of Pidges friends, right?” Keith says. “She recommended you. You do solid work, Hunk.”

“I,” Hunk says, sounding a little choked up, “think I need to call my mom.”

“Of course,” Keith says, standing up but in a way that’s not really thought out, because it really emphasizes the way that the hotpants don’t fully capture his ass. It’s a nice ass. Daily exposure to that ass does not reduce its visual impact. Shiro accidentally flexes at the sight--luckily not with the arm attached to the hand monitoring Hunk’s pulse--and half a dozen water bottles hit the floor. Keith frowns at whoever on Shiro’s behalf and the person scurries away, leaving Keith to kneel down to gather them up instead. It’s dangerous, but Shiro’s made it this far. He tries to focus on Hunk instead. Someone brings over Hunk’s phone and puts it in Hunk’s unoccupied hand, where it sits and waits to be used.

“Oh my god,” one of the Holts groans, and, “I’m sorry, this is going to sound terrible, but please send your least horny EMTs because oh my god.”

-

“Dr. Shirogane,” the EMT says, “we weren’t expecting to see you here.”

“Well,” Shiro says, gesturing at his state of undress and oiling, “I was on hand. Hunk here seems to have hit his head.”

“Alright, Doc,” the other EMT says, “we’ll take it from here. Anyone here riding with?”

“I am,” one of the assistants--Shay?--says, stepping forward. “I’ll, uh, take care of the paperwork, since it’s a workplace injury.”

-

“I told you he was a doctor,” Keith says, as they all watch the ambulance disappear out of the parking lot.

“Yes,” Lotor says. “But none of us were dumb enough to believe you.”

“About my college friend, who is now a medical doctor,” Keith says slowly, “whom I live with. Who is handsome enough and committed to our friendship to get artistically naked for my art.”

“You must understand,” Lotor says. “Even two of those descriptors together are unlikely.”

-

“So,” Keith says when they get back home. “Flexing thigh muscles, huh.”

Shiro forces himself to meet Keith’s eyes. There’s something different in the way that Keith looks right now, something watchful and sparking at Shiro’s heart and hopes. He thinks about flexing his thighs and decides that would be insufficiently discreet. “Like I said,” Shiro says softly. “It redirects bloodflow. From distracting locations.”

Without dropping his gaze, Keith stalks forward, hips moving sinuously, until he has Shiro backed up to the counter. “You have to do that often?” he says. They’re standing close enough to feel each other’s body heat, but they’re not touching, not yet. Keith knows him too well to do anything but leave him a way out, even after all these years.

“All the time,” Shiro breathes. Shock blooms in Keith’s eyes and his mouth parts.

“Me too,” Keith whispers. Shiro can’t help himself then; he ducks in and kisses Keith. Once, and again, and again--he can’t stop, Keith’s mouth is too hot and welcoming. He wants to live there, wrapped up in Keith and the beating red heart of his love.

They have to resurface for air eventually, and they stay close, panting in each other’s arms. Shiro follows Keith’s flush from his cheeks to where it disappears at the collar of his shirt, petting it thoughtfully. He wants to see how far it goes, but he also wonders if they should be slowing down--maybe talk about what’s going on. But then his eyes track back up to Keith’s eyes, which are overflowing with open, obvious affection.

“I love you,” Keith says. Shiro can’t really be blamed for how he reacts to that, not when Keith laughs so delightedly and welcomes him in.

-

Lotor stares at them consideringly the next morning when they arrive on set. “Shall I pencil in ‘Side to Side’ into the filming schedule,” he says thoughtfully.

“Hm,” Keith says, thoughtfully murmuring some of the lyrics under his breath and nodding at the way it sounds.

“It’ll be a few months,” Shiro says, “before my schedule allows for it.”

“Besides,” Keith says, “we haven’t even done ‘How to be a Heartbreaker’ yet.”

“Okay,” Shiro says, laughing.

-

“There are so many versions of this guy in this video,” Lance says. “How many bottles of baby oil did they use?”

“About half a dozen,” Pidge says. “Matt and I were very careful with our pyrotechnics.”

“Why the hell were you and Matt there?” Lance says. “It’s like, a video set at a pool and on a boat?”

“Dude,” Pidge says, “jlo’s jumpsuit was green and we didn't do that either. It’s a tribute. Keith loved the fire and it looks great.”

“Also,” Hunk sighs, “Dr. Shirogane is amazing. You know he stayed with me until the EMTs got me, and they recognized him by name? He’s like, a hero. They told me I was lucky to have been in his care.”

“Oh,” Lance says, more softly. “I'm glad he was there and made sure you were okay.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Hunk says. “Now let's watch the other video.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from jlo's "I luh ya papi" which is also the song that Keith covers and is filming a tribute mv for.  
> Despite the occasional angst pieces, I am committed to writing hijinks and shenanigans. Hit me up on twitter @belovedbacon. Thank you to my conspirator spookyfoot because of encouragement and boner science research.


End file.
